


it's just not me to wear it on my sleeve

by sannlykke



Series: SASO 2017 [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ambiguous Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 04:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11120310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sannlykke/pseuds/sannlykke
Summary: It's not like Mayuzumi had expected basketball to just disappear from his life once he started university. He just hadn't expected anyone else to reappear with it.





	it's just not me to wear it on my sleeve

**Author's Note:**

> for [this](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21522.html?thread=10486546#cmt10486546) saso2017 br1 prompt where mayuzumi and himuro play on the same uni basketball team

Chihiro likes to spend his lunchtime on the rooftop, a habit he’d kept with him into college. It’s easier finding quiet, deserted spots here, if you know how to look for them, with the added bonus of lowering the probability of being found by pesky teammates.  
  
Not that that entirely stops them. Chihiro’s only on the third page of his newest acquisition when he hears the door creak open, breaking the once blissful silence.  
  
“Practice’s not until three,” he says automatically.  
  
“I’m not here to nag you on your form,” Tatsuya replies. Chihiro doesn’t bother looking up as he listens to the approaching footsteps, his mind already wandering away from the contents of his novel. It’s no use dwelling on the inevitable.  
  
“Why do I even bother,” he says, reaching out to grab Tatsuya by the arm.

 

  
  
Practice is uneventful, punctuated by the unending chants of “we _gotta_ beat Tokai this year” and groans from the first-years. The Intercollegiate is less than two months away; they’ve got a good team this year, a great team even, coming back in the face of the loss they’d sustained last year. To Chihiro, that’s all background.  
  
He hadn’t came here for basketball in the first place. It had been the competitive computer science program that’d wooed him, and he’d gotten good enough scores on the entrance exams to be smug about being here. And yet here he is, sucked back into basketball after less than a year of avidly (in his mind, anyway) trying to avoid it. All things considered, it’s not actually that bad.  
  
Though it had come with its own set of annoyances.  
  
“Oh, of course that’s why. I didn’t know you went for the pretty ones, Chi-chan,” Reo had called him (how the fuck had he even gotten Chihiro’s new number?) about a month ago, before school had started. “If I’d known that in high school—“  
  
He’d hung up after that (and had gotten a slightly reprimanding text from Akashi later on. Figures.)  
  
It’s simple, he tells himself. Basketball. He just wants to stay in shape. Playing sports is a luxury he won’t have anymore once he’s set loose into the real world of long office hours and shitty pay. But when he looks up from the sidelines at the figure breaking out from the pile of bodies guarding him, the perfect curve of a three-pointer cleaving through the air, the coach’s whistle signaling the end of the game as it lands neatly inside the hoop, well.  
  
It’s not that simple.

 

  
  
Chihiro still isn’t sure what they are. Fuckbuddies? Friends with benefits? Are they even _friends_ —the thought sometimes crosses his mind when he’s standing in line at Sukiya waiting for takeout, or when he’s blanking out at the lines of code filling his screen. They hang out sometimes after practice, eat together, mostly in quiet. Tatsuya is pleasant to look at and alright to talk to, slightly less annoying than Chihiro’s ex-teammates; not that any of that lets Chihiro forget what he saw at the Winter Cup three years ago.  
  
It’s strange because he knows Tatsuya has other buddies, other people and mutual sort-of acquaintances he probably cares about way more than Chihiro on top of schoolwork and club activities, but he still makes time to meet. Sometimes Chihiro wonders if Tatsuya only puts up with him by virtue of proximity. If that’s true, Chihiro doesn’t blame him. But.  
  
They haven’t gotten into any real altercations yet, which surprises him. Probably because neither wants to talk about _this_ , make clear the lines between them—whatever they are. That day will come sooner or later, Chihiro supposes, not that it makes him feel any differently about the situation.  
  
Maybe if they would talk, that would change.  
  
(But he doesn’t know if he’d like that.)

 

  
  
What he does notice is Tatsuya getting increasingly antsy, less composed around him, the closer it gets to the championship. He’s still the same on the court—vice captain this year, in charge of keeping the kids in check while Coach and the captain go over their plays. Nothing to suggest anything’s wrong at all.  
  
After re-watching the championship game from last year for what feels like the 50th time they’re driven hard that day, a rainy Friday afternoon. By the end of it Chihiro feels like he’s apt to pass out on the pavement walking back to his dorm. What’s the use of this, he thinks as he looks up at the shitty weather, taking out his umbrella—he’s sure he’d be sitting out most of the games anyway.  
  
Then he hears someone cough quietly behind him. “Yeah?”  
  
“I forgot my umbrella.”  
  
Chihiro sighs. “Smooth. Come here.”  
  
Tatsuya doesn’t say much as Chihiro walks him back, their bodies shoved close together as the incessant rain continues to pour down. They’re living in the same building this year, though on different floors; Chihiro makes a face as he shakes the remaining water off his umbrella at the door. “Ugh, this weather.”  
  
“Thanks for that.”  
  
“Really,” Chihiro says, leaning over; there’s nobody to see them anyway. Both of them are sopping wet—you can’t really shove two six-feet-tall boys under a tiny umbrella and expect them not to be. Tatsuya tastes like salt, and something else—Chihiro doesn’t look up from the kiss, but he can feel Tatsuya’s hand on his back tighten.  
  
Oh.  
  
 _Why is this happening to me_ , Chihiro thinks, but really, he’s the one who’d gotten himself into this situation. As much as he hates to admit it. He pulls Tatsuya closer, pulling them into the corner where other people would be less likely to stumble upon them. The ring Tatsuya always wears is warm against his skin. Feeling it brings something to the back of his mind—the buzzer sounding, echoes across the court.  
  
Of course.  
  
“Last year wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs. Some part of him wants to smack Tatsuya. And himself—there’s not much he could say, is there? He knows this feeling too. So Chihiro just stands there, leaning the folded umbrella against the wall, holding him.  
  
When they finally break apart there is nothing in Tatsuya’s eyes that would suggest tears, save the faint traces of red around his eyes that Chihiro isn’t even sure is there. The ripples smooth across his face until there is nothing left but his usual expression, inscrutable, beautiful.  
  
“We’ll do better this year.”  
  
“Yeah?” It would be a lie to say he’s not relieved, but Chihiro lets himself break a small smile as he picks up the umbrella once more. “Can’t do that with a cold. Let’s go inside.”


End file.
